


Across the Stars

by Witcherology



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Jon and Sansa think they're siblings, Rating May Change, Show Ages, so will tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcherology/pseuds/Witcherology
Summary: Separated by light years, Jon and Sansa find themselves connected by the Force. Or, a Star Wars AU.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 53





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> YAC- Years after Aegon's Conquest  
> I've decided to use a mix of Star Wars planets and ASOIAF locations, i.e. Coruscant is the planet and King's Landing is the city, etc.  
> Fellow Star Wars nerds: this story takes place waaaaaay before Episode I or even the KOTOR games. Think of it as an Ancient Republic era. In fact there's Seven Republics instead of Seven Kingdoms, and they're as follows:
> 
> The Seven Republics as they correlate to the Seven Kingdoms  
> Alderaan: The Vale  
> Dantooine: The Riverlands  
> Ilum: The North + The Wall  
> Ord Martell: Dorne  
> Coruscant: the Crownlands  
> Zeffo: the Stormlands  
> Naboo: the Reach  
> Serenno: the Westerlands
> 
> Finally, this comes with a playlist: [listen here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6VzFHMMdNRGQlvLYatVvbG)

**A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...**

It's a time of distress for the SEVEN REPUBLICS.

Following the execution of Senator Ned Stark,

the galaxy has erupted into all out war and

the JEDI ORDER has also fallen into chaos.

Meanwhile, SANSA STARK is held captive

by Littlefinger while her half-brother JON SNOW

remains at THE WALL...

* * *

ILUM, 300 YAC

THE WALL (JEDI ORDER HEADQUARTERS)

_ Nighttime _

Jon hadn’t even felt the last lightsaber.

He’d fallen on his knees in the snow, then collapsed.

And then he’d died.

* * *

ILUM, 300 YAC

THE WALL (JEDI ORDER HEADQUARTERS)

_ Daytime _

Melisandre of Asshai had promised herself she wouldn’t meddle in the Jedi’s affairs. Although she was more than adept in the ways of the Force, she was neither Jedi nor Sith, and had no place here but the one her King had given her.

And yet… she’d seen this Jon Snow in her visions. The Force was not yet done with him, she knew.

She could not leave him to die.

She’d found him in the morning, like they all had, lying in a pool of his own blood, red snow all around him. He’d been dead for hours.

Melisandre should leave him be. Stannis would not approve of her meddling.

But the Force did not lie.

She had to bring him back.

* * *

ILUM, 300 YAC

THE WALL (JEDI ORDER HEADQUARTERS)

_ Nighttime _

Cold.

Darkness.

This was all that had ever been, all that was and would be.

And then, all of a sudden, he’d been thrust back into the light. Violently.

“It worked,” a voice said. It seemed to come from very far away. It seemed to be the very first voice he’d heard. It belonged to a woman, Jon realized. He’d known her, once upon a time. “Stars, it  _ worked _ .”

Jon—that was his name—coughed and struggled to breathe. It felt wrong to have air in his lungs somehow, like it didn’t belong there.  _ Everything _ felt wrong. He shouldn’t be moving. He should be lying still in the cold and the dark. Why wasn’t he?

“What happened?” he asked the woman. He struggled to get the words out—he shouldn’t be speaking either. His own voice was foreign to his ears.

“You…” she hesitated. “You died. But I brought you back,” there was a glint of triumph in her red eyes. “You’re alive again.”

Wrong. Wrong. It was all wrong.

His heart shouldn’t be beating, and yet it was. He shouldn’t be breathing, and yet he was. He shouldn’t be alive, and yet he was.

He spun on his heel and faced the red woman.

“What did you do to me? What Dark power did you use on me?”

“Only what the Force put at my disposal. It wants you to live.”

Jon let it go. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with the Jedi anymore.

* * *

ALDERAAN, 300 YAC

THE EYRIE

_ Morning _

Sansa awoke with a start and a sharp stab of pain in her chest, in the same place where her heart was.

A shaft of light, pale as snow, was coming in through her window, illuminating the white floors of the palace. It seemed wrong somehow, that such a peaceful scene could exist, that she was here, alive, when all her family was gone.

_ All but Jon _ , she reminded herself.  _ He’s still with the Jedi back on Ilum _ .

If only she could see him now, perhaps she wouldn’t feel so alone. But she knew it was impossible. The Jedi gave up all their attachments when they joined the Order, and even if he could have seen her, the two of them had never been close in the first place, so why would he want to?

The thought filled her with sadness. She had no time to dwell on it, however. She must go about her day. Sweetrobin and Littlefinger awaited.

As she started freshening up, however, she felt a strange presence, as if someone was in the room with her—which was impossible, as she kept her bedroom doors locked and only she knew the password. But the feeling persisted, until she finally had to turn around and make sure—

Sansa dropped her hairbrush. It fell to the marble floor with a clang loud enough to wake the whole palace up.

There was no door anymore, no wall: the other half of her room was simply gone. Instead she was facing a humble, ascetic abode, with a single metal cot and a space heater. And on the cot sat someone she knew well.

“Jon?” she whispered.

And then, impossibly, he raised his head and, across galaxies, across stars and light years, their eyes met.

“Sansa?”

Her breath caught. She’d never expected to see him again, not truly. Yet here he was, right before her eyes, as clear as day. Although not unharmed, she noticed with a frown. One of his eyes was black, he looked pallid and drawn, and he kept clutching his ribs.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

For some reason, he scoffed.

And then she felt it. Pain. Not physical pain, but something deeper, something worse than that. And she knew right away that it was not hers. It was his.

She looked at him, and knew he had sensed it too.

“Why am I seeing you like this?” he asked. “This shouldn’t be possible.”

Sansa had been too absorbed in the fact that she was seeing the only family she had left to concern herself with the details.

“The Force must be connecting us somehow,” Jon concluded, but he still seemed perplexed.

Sansa nodded; the explanation made sense to her. Although she was no Jedi, she and most of the Starks were strong in the Force. It was not that that troubled her, though.

“Jon, what happened to you?”

Jon’s face darkened. “You don’t want to know.”

Experiencing his pain as if it were her own, Sansa had the strange feeling that she knew what had happened, even without knowing. Shivers went up and down her spine at the sensation.

“What happened to  _ you _ ?” Jon asked her. “Where are you? Are you alright?”

No one had asked that question to her in years. Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill.

“I am, somewhat. I’m on Alderaan. This is The Eyrie, Aunt Lysa’s palace.”

“How did you end up there?”

Sansa felt how it soothed him to hear her speak, so she began to tell him her tale. How she’d fled Coruscant on Littlefinger’s ship, how Littlefinger had murdered the man that had helped her escape before her very eyes (even if he wasn’t a nice man, Sansa still felt sorry for him), how she was in hiding and going by the name Alayne Stone now, pretending to be Littlefinger’s daughter. She didn’t tell him about Aunt Lysa’s death, nor about the beatings and countless humiliations she suffered at Joffrey’s court, but Jon’s eyes moistened with tears regardless, and she got the feeling that somehow he can sense her pain the way she does his.

Although they were never close back at Winterfell, she felt drawn to him now, which is understandable: he’s the only family either of them has left. It’s almost as if that distance that was always between them never existed, replaced instead by a sense of mutual understanding, of companionship, even. Sansa could have stayed there for hours, talking to him, but then there was a knock at her door, and they were both startled by the sound of Sweetrobin’s voice, demanding Sansa go play with him.

Sansa turns to Jon with an apologetic smile, but when she does, he is gone and she is alone in her bedchamber once more.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a playlist to go with this fic: [listen here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6VzFHMMdNRGQlvLYatVvbG)

ILUM, 300 YAC

THE WALL (JEDI ORDER HEADQUARTERS)

Jon could hardly begin to understand what had happened to him. The stab wounds from his brothers’ and sisters’ lightsabers were still fresh scars in his flesh, but they did not pain him. Not even the one over his heart, even though he knew it had pierced it. He’d  _ felt _ it. He’d  _ died _ . And yet he was alive again, brought back to life by that witch Melisandre. He had no words to describe it.

Jon had even less words to explain what had happened the other day, or why it hadn’t happened again since. All he knew was that somehow he now felt Sansa’s presence in the back of his mind, as if an invisible thread was connecting the two of them.

He could neither see her nor hear her, but he sensed her the way one senses the coming of winter. Sometimes he thought he’d turn around and find her there, smiling at him. But he never did.

This bond between them, faint as it might be, had been his only solace lately. Although feeling her own loneliness made him sad, it also made him feel less alone.

They were keeping him in humble abodes, rooms usually reserved for meditation, and as the days passed it was becoming increasingly clear they did not know what to do with him. What  _ did _ you do when someone as controversial as himself came back to life? Jon imagined the discussions the council was having at the moment must be very colorful.

Meanwhile, all he could do was think. He was alone with his memories and his ghosts, with Sansa always there yet out of reach.

He found himself remembering the girl she’d been, how she’d sang and sewn pretty things and played at being a lady. There’d been little of that girl in the woman he saw. Her hair had been dark, her eyes wary, her face a mask. And as she unfolded her tale for him, he understood why.

His heart ached for her, as well as for the rest of their family. He’d tried time and time again to search for them with the Force, to no avail. They had died far from home, and so would he and Sansa if he didn’t do something about it soon.

First it’d been his father, Senator Ned Stark. His sister Arya disappeared after that. His brothers, Bran and Rickon, mere children, died after the war began. Then it was Robb, another victim of the Lannisters and the intergalactic war. And through it all, Jon hadn’t lifted a finger to help them, because he’d sworn a vow and Jedi left all their previous attachments behind when they joined the Order.

Now only he and Sansa were left. The last of the Starks.

“Master Snow,” a voice called. Jon noticed the lack of his title right away: he was no longer commander. He also recognized the voice at once: it belonged to Edd Tollett, better known as Dolorous Edd. He was one of the Jedi Masters here at the Wall, and one of the only people who still stood by Jon despite everything that had happened. “I’ve come to release you.” But despite this news he looked unhappy; miserable, even.

Jon watched him numbly. Was he about to be executed? If so, he felt nothing. Perhaps he deserved it after all he’d done.

But then he remembered Sansa, and he stiffened. Who would help her if he died? Who would take care of her? She’d be so alone, so lost… 

“Am I going to die?” he asked Edd, his voice hoarse and unrecognizable to his own ears. He clutched his robes closer to himself, as if that would protect him from his fate.

“I doubt it.” Edd swiped a datapad through the scanner and the laser field that had prevented Jon from leaving his cell disappeared. “Come with me.”

Swallowing, Jon followed him down the narrow halls he knew so well. This place was ancient, older than the Jedi themselves. It was made of ice and stone, and some said it had been built using the Force too. Jon could believe it. The Wall rose seven hundred feet tall, and it was like a wide river made of ice running across Ilum.

The Wall and its Jedi Order had once been the pride of Ilum, but recently they had fallen into ruin. That was why Jon…

Not that it mattered anymore.

They were in front of his old chambers, where he used to hold council and make decisions. Decisions so disastrous they got him murdered by his own brothers and sisters. As the doors slid open, several people leapt from their seats and gaped at him, wide-eyed. Others simply gasped and stared. There were murmurs and whispers, but Jon ignored them all as Edd led him into the chamber and towards the center, where he could face the entire council.

Meanwhile, on the Commander’s chair sat a familiar figure, a slim young woman in grey robes. Alys Karstark. Jon breathed in relief. They’d always had a good relationship, and he’d helped her when she’d fled from an arranged marriage, took her in despite her age.

“Jon Snow,” Master Thorne said, making it a point to ignore his title of Master, “you are hereby accused of conspiring with the Sith against the Jedi Order in order to change our customs and traditions and bring the Jedi to an end. Do you deny this?”

Jon breathed in, breathed out. He’d already made up his mind. “No. I do not deny this. But—”

There was a glint of triumph in Thorne’s eyes as he interrupted Jon, “There you have it, my fellow Masters. A confession, from his own lips. From his own lips he admits he betrayed us, tried to have us killed with the help of the Sith!”

“That is  _ not _ what I was trying to do,” Jon said calmly, forcing down his anger. Now wasn’t the time to snap and lose his temper.

“You were working with the  _ Sith _ , Jon,” Alys reminded him, not unkindly.

“For good reason,” Jon insisted, but he was not so sure now that they’d believe him. The faces he saw all around him ranged from confused, to concerned, to downright furious and disgusted. Mostly the latter. “We are dying out because our philosophy isn’t sustainable. What good does it do, to take a child away from its family and then tell them never to see them again, to forget them and never love again?” He was aware of how his voice caught when he said this, knew they could see the tears moistening his eyes. He decided he no longer cared. Sansa was out there somewhere, he could feel her, and he wasn’t going to lose her. “Everything I did, I did it for the Order.”

Alliser Thorne leapt to his feet, face beet red. “You were trying to destroy us!”

“I was trying to save you!” Jon snapped. “All of you!”

But as he looked around the room he could see he had few friends left here. He’d sent most of them away and alienated the rest: he’d sent Sam to the Citadel on Alderaan, ignored Pyp and Grenn, not to mention all those who’d died.

All he had left in the world was Sansa now, and she had to be his priority, too. His enterprise had failed, and his brothers and sisters had rejected it and him. Now all he could hope for was that they wouldn’t kill him (again) in the bargain.

“You  _ died _ ,” Master Marsh said shakily. (He’d know; he’d stabbed him.) An eerie silence settled over them. “You died.”

From what Jon had gathered, the traitors had vanished in the night and had never been caught, but Jon remembered some of their faces. He fixed Bowen Marsh with an icy stare.

“I did. And Melisandre brought me back.”

“It was the Force,” a voice said from the back of the room. Melisandre stepped into the light, all clad in red as usual. Jon hadn’t noticed she was there. “The Force revived you.”

Jon didn’t know what to say to that.

“I think so too,” Alys said. “That’s why I brought Melisandre here.”

Jon quirked a brow. There were murmurs in the hall, but Alys silenced them with a gesture.

“Jon Snow will go free,” Alys announced. This time the chamber erupted into shouts of indignation, but she proceeded, more loudly this time, “but he will leave the Jedi Order and the Wall, and never return. Melisandre has agreed to escort him off of the planet and see he doesn’t get into trouble.”

Jon sagged in relief. He hardly heard the insults, the calls for his execution, the chaos going on all around him. He was free. Melisandre’s presence was but a minor inconvenience.

He was finally going to find Sansa.

* * *

ALDERAAN, 300 YAC

THE EYRIE

Sansa hadn’t seen Jon again, but she felt their connection still. It was as if a part of him was always with her, and a part of her with him. It should be impossible, and yet it was so, and she was glad for it. Even if she couldn’t speak to him, the mere sensation of his presence was enough to make her feel less alone.

She used to go to a far, far off place inside her head when Joffrey had her beaten, when she almost bedded Tyrion, when Joffrey made her look at her father’s head. Now every time Littlefinger touched her she recalled the Force, and Jon, and somehow she was at peace.

Sansa thought of Jon every day. She longed to see him again, to talk to him, to have someone listen to her troubles and care. No one had been kind to her or loved her in so very long. But she feared for him, too. She sensed something was wrong, knew it in her bones, thanks to their connection.

She spent days worrying for him, unable to concentrate on the most minimal of tasks, struggling not to get Littlefinger to notice. And then one day, the feeling evaporated, and she was filled with an overwhelming sense of  _ freedom _ , and she knew it was Jon’s. He was alright, he was safe. Sansa would have wept with relief if she hadn’t known Littlefinger was watching her every move.

As it was, she made some excuse to the servants and Sweetrobin about praying and retired to the godswood. It had no heart tree, but Sansa found it comforting all the same. She sat amidst the foliage covering the earth, surrounded by leaves and earth and grass. It smelled wonderful here, almost like home.

A light snow began to fall. It had nothing on even the summer snows back home, but it was still beautiful, and she eagerly held out her hands to gather as much of it as she could. She brought the white stuff to her face, inhaling the scent of winter.

Then something shifted, changed, and her world was different. It was a familiar sensation, a stir, and she turned around and was not surprised when she saw him across from her.

He wasn’t surrounded by trees like she was, but by metal crates upon metal crates. Wherever he was, it was dim, and it was moving. Sansa suspected he was a stowaway at some ship.

“Jon,” she said, breathlessly. “You’re okay.”

He seemed relieved to see her too, and he gave her one of his rare smiles. “Aye. As are you.” It came out as a question, rather than a fact, so Sansa nodded. Jon leaned forward on his elbows and suddenly turned very serious. “Listen. I need you to prepare for an escape.” When Sansa said nothing, he explained, “I’m coming to rescue you.”

Sansa’s heart caught in her throat. They were the words she’d been waiting to hear for so very, very long… Only to be betrayed by the man who had ‘rescued’ her.

But Jon was different. He was her brother. He would protect her, she knew.

“How can I help?” she asked him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed this chapter, and I'm sorry it was so short :(
> 
> As usual, you can find me at:  
> twitter: @[witcherology](https://twitter.com/witcherology)  
> tumblr: @[witcherology](https://witcherology.tumblr.com/)


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention when I posted this chapter that I changed my mind about certain planets corresponding to certain ASOIAF locations. The North and the Wall are no longer in Dantooine but in Ilum, and the Vale is now in Alderaan instead of Naboo. Here's the rest of the changes:
> 
> The Seven Republics  
> Alderaan: The Vale  
> Dantooine: The Riverlands  
> Ilum: The North + The Wall  
> Ord Martell: Dorne  
> Coruscant: the Crownlands  
> Zeffo: the Stormlands  
> Naboo: the Reach  
> Serenno: the Westerlands

SOMEWHERE IN SERENNO

Getting away from Melisandre wasn’t easy. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done, leaving her alone in White Harbor port with no money and little possibility of getting out, but it was the only way. She’d been instructed to take him somewhere where he’d sell his lightsaber—a gift from his old Master, Master Mormont—so that he could make money to support himself.

Instead Jon sold the lightsaber, kept the money, and broke into the store to get it back. But not before losing Melisandre in a crowd.

Still, she had her ways, and he knew she’d find him eventually. She was a Nightsister, a Force user just like him, the closest thing to a witch that existed in the galaxy. In order to escape her less conspicuously he snuck into the back of an airship headed for Serenno. It wasn’t Alderaan, but it would have to do.

When he saw Sansa, he’d been surrounded by metal crates and cargo, as a stowaway aboard yet another vehicle, this one bound for Lannisport. It was not a place he cared to visit: the Lannisters of Casterly Rock had killed his family, and Lannisport was brimming with Lannisters. But it was the best place to find a way to get to Alderaan, as it was filled with docking bays and trading ports.

He told Sansa none of this, not wanting to worry her. Besides, they had no time. They exchanged as few words as possible—Jon couldn’t risk getting caught by the people piloting his only means of transportation—but it was enough for Jon. Enough to put together an escape plan, and enough to see that she was safe, or safe enough.

He was still thinking about their encounter by the time he arrived at Lannisport. Nothing could have prepared him for the sudden surge of electricity, as if the very air were charged with it, and how the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms had stood on end. He’d known she’d be there before he’d seen her, and when he’d blinked he was not surprised to find her there, sitting in a godswood. He could smell the same scents she did, feel her mild chill, taste the snowflakes on her lips.

And above all, he could feel in his bones how the Force was connecting them. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was cosmic and otherworldly, powerful and incomparable.

***

The city of Lannisport was abuzz with the sound of flying airships, the shouts of people, and the clanging of credits. The place smelled of oil and metal, and looked nothing like the golden city Jon had heard described. That part of town, he imagined, was not for the likes of him.

Sighing, he began making the rounds, asking captains and crew members alike whether they knew of any ships headed for Alderaan. A tough looking man with a cybernetic eye had not, and wanted no business with no Jedi (Jon deduced the eye had to be able to see through clothing, as his lightsaber was concealed by his robes). A Twi'lek of impressive stature gave him a whole speech about how although she was bound for a planet as far away from the war as possible, she sensed Alderaan would not escape from it unscathed, and therefore would not be returning there and neither should anybody else, thank you very much. No one else was of any help, and the rest did not want to speak to him.

Jon was about to give up when he heard a “psst!” from somewhere close to the floor. At first he thought he was imagining it, but the sound grew more insistent. Finally, he looked down at its owner and found the strangest alien he’d ever seen: it was a large-eared, slitted-eyed, four-fingered, dapple-skinned slight little thing with vines and flowers woven into their hair and a cloak made out of leaves. With a gasp, he realized what he was looking at: a woh dak nag gram, a Child of the Forest.

He was at a loss for words himself, but the creature was not.

“You seek Alderaan. Come,” it said, and it led him by the hand like Jon was the child. Which he supposed he was.

Had he not been Force bound to his own sister, Jon would have found the experience of encountering a Child of the Forest too surreal to take seriously. As it was, he let himself be led towards a ship that had clearly seen better days, and a crew that looked very questionable themselves.

“What stray have you brought this time, Birk?” a redheaded man asked the Child of the Forest in an exasperated tone. But there was fondness there as well, Jon could tell.

Birk turned to look at Jon with golden slitted eyes. Jon weighed his options.

“Bael,” he answered.

The mercenaries—for that was what they must be, Jon thought — moved closer. Jon swallowed.

“Can you fight, Bael?” a Mirialan female asked him, crossing her arms in a competitive stance.

“Only with my hands and my blaster, ma’am. But I’ve lost the latter.”

“Lost it?” a Mandalorian asked doubtfully, his voice all metal. “How? You don’t strike me as the betting type.”

Jon thought fast. “I sold it, sir. To pay off my father’s debts.” He looked down, pretending to be ashamed, and prayed that would be enough to convince them.

The mercenaries looked at each other. Jon noticed the Mandalorian shaking his head no, but after a moment of silence, one of the others tossed a blaster at him.

“Welcome to the Brotherhood Without Banners, kid.”

“The  _ true _ Brotherhood,” someone added. Jon made a mental note of that.

* * *

ALDERAAN

THE EYRIE

Sansa had known fear during her short life, but this was a different kind of fear. This one tasted of lies and bile, of peril and sweat, of treason and danger. It tasted of escape.

Nevertheless, she left her rooms and donned a cloak as dark as her hair. She’d dyed it again today, as the red was beginning to show at the roots. Petyr insisted she keep her auburn hair dyed a dark, brown color, the better to hide who she really was, and Sansa obeyed him. She had little choice but to do as he said. He was a dangerous man, capable of killing and lying and something else, something worse: toying with mens’ minds as if they were made of clay, molding them to his will.

Sansa feared him too.

But now, thanks to Jon, she felt a little braver, a little stronger, a little hopeful. She was no longer the child she’d been, confident that heroes existed and that they always triumphed in the end, but she wanted to believe it was possible that a good man and a good woman could help each other.

What she could help Jon with, she was not sure. She was certain she’d find something.

She walked the dark, deserted palace hallways alone, always checking over her shoulder to see if she was being followed by one of Petyr’s mercenaries or droids. Finally she reached the elevator door and entered the security code. The doors slid open with a hiss, and she slipped inside.

The knot in Sansa’s belly only disappeared when she was able to reach the godswood undisturbed. Since she was there, she sat down and tried to think. She’d have to stay here for a good long while for it to be convincing, so she might as well try to pray while she was at it.

All that came to mind were the faces of her family: her father’s long solemn face, her mother’s beautiful features, her big brother’s charming smile, Arya’s grey eyes, Bran and Rickon’s auburn curls. Now only Jon remained to her, with his lips that seldom smiled (although they had for her) and his eyes that seemed so sad.

She sniffled and looked at the time. 01:23:58. She’d spent well over an hour in the godswood without anyone disturbing her. Now she’d have to see if she could make it back to her rooms in peace as well.

Moments later, Sansa found herself back in her bedroom, feeling triumphant. She had only encountered a protocol droid on her way up, and it had asked her no questions. She wasn’t an intruder, so it wasn’t programmed to do anything to her. Relieved, she sunk into her bed and closed her eyes. She wished she could see Jon now, but some part of her knew she couldn’t. It would not happen now. But soon. She could feel it.

***

Over the following days, Sansa continued to visit the godswood at the same time of night—not so late it would be suspicious, but not so early it would still be light out. She soon learned Petyr’s mercenaries were often drinking or out with whores around that time, and anyone else she might encounter would be placated with a simple “I’m going to the godswood to pray.”

While she was there, she searched for escape routes, hiding spots, and clearings, as per Jon’s instructions. It took her many days to explore it all, and she even had to make a map.

In order to avoid raising any suspicion, she also took the precaution of spending more time with the servants, so that Petyr would believe she’d simply become more animated lately and therefore more active. Chatting with the cooks, asking the droids questions, pretending to be interested in the comings and goings of shipments and how the mountain clans were raiding again.

The whole thing was exhausting, because on top of all of that, she also had to run some aspects of the Eyrie and spend her evenings with Petyr. By the end of it all, she was so exhausted she would have collapsed on her bed, had it not been of paramount importance that she head to the woods to ‘pray’.

In the end, it began to help, all her activities. It took her mind off her grief, gave her a sense of purpose. She no longer felt as naive and stupid as Cersei and Joffrey had constantly told her she was, but rather useful and resourceful and even smart. She was turning into a confident woman, one almost as strong as her mother and as diligent as her father. And as brave as Robb, too.

* * *

SOMEWHERE ACROSS THE GALAXY

Jon was resting in his compartment, which he shared with a man only a few years older than him. Anguy was out at the moment, away on a mission with Birk, Meg, and a few others.

To his surprise, the Brotherhood had turned out to be not a mercenary band but a group of rebels and vigilantes, dispensing justice in the places affected by the wars. Jon rather liked them.

He’d learned a little about his companions during their travels. Gendry had been a foundling and an apprentice in the bowels of King’s Landing, training to mold Beskar; he was the Mandalorian who’d opposed him joining. Edric Dayne was the heir to Starfall, on Ors Martell, where Anguy was also from. The green-skinned Mirialan was nicknamed Meg, a fearsome fighter. There was also a Togrutan female called Welly who served as their healer, and a droid called W4-TY, or Watty. Birk was a mystery.

They seldom spoke about their previous leader, and in fact they didn’t seem to have one right now, but Jon knew they’d had at least one in the past, before someone terrible called Lady Stoneheart had come along.

So far, they hadn’t made it to Alderaan, but they would soon. It was their last stop. What they were going to do there, Jon did not know. The war hadn’t touched the planet yet, as far as they knew, and the Brotherhood only went to war-ravaged planets. Perhaps they meant to refuel and resupply there. Regardless, if all went well, he’d be there soon, and maybe he’d even be able to convince them to help him.

He was thinking about that when he felt a sudden thrill, and his stomach whooped as if he’d just been thrown off his horse. He knew what was happening right away. Sansa.

“Jon!” she exclaimed, delighted. Her cheeks were red, as if she’d just been out in the cold, but her surroundings showed her luxurious apartments in the Eyrie. “Where are you? It’s been  _ days _ .”

He knew she didn’t ask how he was because she’d known he was well, and would have felt it if he wasn’t. It was how he felt about her.

“I’m with a group, traveling across the galaxy,” he replied carefully. He didn’t want to alarm her with tales of fighting alongside these rebels, but there might be something else he could tell her. “We’re helping those in need.”

One of her eyebrows rose in suspicion. She knew he was lying.

“Do you think I’m stupid, Jon?”

He was startled by the strength of her rage: it was a fire burning hot in her belly, and therefore in his.

“No, of course not!”

“Then, do you think I’m still a little girl that needs to be coddled?”

“No.”

“Tell me the truth. I’m sick of lies. I have enough of them here.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Jon sighed and ran a hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts. “They call themselves the true Brotherhood Without Banners. They don’t talk much about the past, especially not around me, but from what I’ve gathered, there used to be more of them, Then their old boss died and a new one took over. Lady Stoneheart. That’s when the group split.”

Sansa listened intently, patiently, absorbing everything he was saying.

“I don’t know what the other group is doing, but I know it’s not good. This one, though… I didn’t lie when I told you they help those in need. They go from planet to planet, providing aid to the common people, those who the wars have hurt the most. And yes, sometimes we have to fight. Everyone knows about us and despises us. Even some of the common people have turned on us because they fear the other group so much.”

It was quiet in his compartment after he’d finished. He could hear Sansa breathe in rhythm with him, could smell the frost on her shoulders.

“How long has this… Brotherhood… been active? Was it during, before, or after the war?”

“During, I think. Why?”

Sansa ignored his question. “What planets did they visit then? Coruscant? Dantooine? Ilum? Zeffo?”

“Why are you asking me all of this?”

“Because, Jon. This Brotherhood Without Banners might know something useful.” There was a glint in her eyes that he didn’t recognize, and for the first time in his life he thought of her not as Sansa the half-sister of the bastard boy, but as her own woman.

“I've been underestimating you. I'm sorry.”

“Quit apologizing,” she chastised him, but her chest bloomed with happiness, and so did Jon's.


	4. IV

ALDERAAN

THE EYRIE

“You’ve been a busy little bird lately,” Petyr observed that night at dinner. Sansa swallowed when he put down his spoon to regard her with a knowing smirk. “Talking with the servants, visiting that godswood of yours, taking care of the palace and of Sweetrobin…” 

Of course, Sansa was under no illusions that she was free at the Eyrie. She might be able to come and go as she pleased and give some orders here and there, but it was only because Littlefinger allowed it. She was playing a dangerous game here, trying to cheat him without knowing the rules. But she had to try if she meant to earn her freedom.

“You’ve been very diligent,” Petyr said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I hope you won’t miss the Eyrie.”

Sansa almost dropped her spoon in her soup.

“Yes, I’m afraid we’ll be leaving soon, little bird.”

Sansa’s mouth was dry. As difficult as it might be, she’d been planning to leave  _ the Eyrie _ , not some place she didn’t know. How else was she supposed to escape Littlefinger’s clutches? And what about Jon? He was on his way to Alderaan, and she might be gone by the time he got here. What was she going to do now?

“Where are we going?” she asked, adopting a neutral expression she hoped was convincing.

There was a glint in Littlefinger’s eyes as he answered, “Why, to your home, of course.”

* * *

DANTOOINE

THE RIVERLANDS

Jon thought he’d seen war back on Ilum. He’d thought he’d seen its ugly face on Zeffo, and on the small planets surrounding the Dantooine system, but now he knew that he had seen but its shadow. All paled next to the horror that were the Riverlands of Dantooine.

There he saw women and children, mutilated and ravaged; old men, butchered; corpses scattered across the countryside, attracting swarms of flies and packs of dogs alike; and rivers running red with blood. He’d thought he’d known violence, known fear, known pain—he’d known nothing.

“Aye, Bael,” Meg told him on the first night, as they sat by the fire. “These people have suffered more than you or I can imagine. It’s a hard thing to watch, even after all you’ve seen with us, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “It will get… not easier, no, but you will learn to bear it. As we all have.”

Jon nodded. He tried to finish his soup, knowing he’d need the strength the following day, but he had no appetite. He gave it to Edric, who’d been eyeing it eagerly ever since he’d finished his own.

Come morning, they left in the direction of the bandits’ hideout. After the wars had come and gone, ravaging the land and its people, groups of reavers and pillagers had come and destroyed what little was left. Their task was to root them out and end them once and for all.

They often did this kind of job, but Jon sensed something about this was different. The group was tense, and the jokes and tales they often exchanged as they walked were absent today. Instead their faces were somber and their steps heavy, as if they were marching towards their executions.

Jon kept his lightsaber ready just in case he’d need to run. It wouldn’t be honorable, to bolt and leave them, but he’d do it if it was necessary. He had one goal, and one goal only: to save Sansa. And for that he’d need to stay alive.

_ Sansa _ ... He worried about her, but he also knew that if anything happened to her, he’d be the first to feel it. Although that was also troubling in and of itself. Even if something were wrong, he’d be too far away to do anything about it now.

“Two are keeping watch from the trees,” Birk whispered suddenly. “They haven’t heard us yet.”

“Good,” Anguy said, producing his long rifle. He was their sniper, their best shot, but although he prided himself on his excellent eyesight, there were things even he couldn’t see. “Tell me where, Birk.”

Birk moved silently to stand beside him, pointing the rifle in the right direction without even touching it. Like Jon, Birk was a Force user, and a very powerful one. Jon would have gladly helped him so he wouldn’t have had to carry the burden of being the only Force user on the team, but nobody knew that Jon was a Jedi.

Anguy squeezed the trigger. All they heard was a rustle, followed by a body hitting the ground with a thud. The next bandit had no time to wonder what had happened before Anguy had finished him off, too.

After that, they kept moving, more stealthily now as they approached the cave. The entrance was also guarded by sentries, but Meg and Gendry cut their throats as silently and efficiently as Anguy had shot the ones before.

Despite their victories, the tension in the group didn’t decrease, but built like a steady crescendo. It was as if they were all waiting, anticipating some grand finale that Jon could neither see nor hear.

Inside the cave, the air was cold and damp, thick with the smell of moss and blood. The people inside were waiting for them, but their weapons were not drawn.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” said a man in a tattered robe that might have been red once. His eyes scanned the Brotherhood’s members one by one, until they landed on Jon. His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

“You have committed crimes against the people of the Seven Republics,” Anguy said loudly. Nervously, too. “You have killed—”

“Only those with the name of Frey,” a man spat, pronouncing the name like it was poison, and Jon’s stomach turned.  _ Frey _ . The family that betrayed and killed Robb. “Only traitors and turncloaks.”

“You have killed,” Anguy repeated, louder this time. “You’ve executed people without trial. You’ve pillaged and robbed and butchered—”

Suddenly, he went white and stopped talking. Jon turned, and what he saw nearly stopped his heart.  _ A ghost _ , he thought.  _ An apparition. _

But she was real, as real as he was. And she was monstrous.

Little remained of the Lady Stark he’d known but her eyes, which were sunken and all-seeing now. Death and grief had destroyed her face, which bore the marks of fingernails and scratches—her own, he guessed. Her throat had been cut, and messily. She was terrible to behold. Jon turned away.

It was too late, however. She’d seen him. And as she pointed her long, impossibly bony finger at him, Jon knew she’d recognized him.

* * *

Sansa could feel something was wrong right away. Wherever he was, Jon’s life was in danger, she knew it in her soul. That invisible something that linked them together ached, and it was so painful she had to stop packing and hug herself, although there was no comfort to be had: the pain went beyond her, somewhere outside her body and her skin and her blood.

She tried to reach out to him, to find whatever it was that tethered him to her and give it a sharp pull, see if she could bring him back to her, to no avail.

All she could do was hurt, and wait.

* * *

Lady Stoneheart—for that was what she was called now—could not speak, but she remembered. She remembered the bastard boy her husband had once brought home from Ord Martell, to raise amongst their own children in Winterfell. Only Jon’s siblings were all gone now, as dead as Senator Ned Stark, as dead as his lady wife, while the bastard remained stubbornly alive. She knew this, and she  _ hated  _ him for it.

Briefly, Jon wondered if this was what his future might have held if Melisandre had brought him back to life days, weeks, months later than she had. A rotten, disfigured replica of what he’d once been, left with nothing but the memories of his life.

Lady Stoneheart held her hands to her throat, where the dagger had cut her skin to the bone, and  _ hissed _ . With a start, Jon realized she was speaking. Her finger was still pointed in his direction. The man in the faded red robes approached her and eyed Jon as he listened to what she said. When she was finished, the man aimed his blaster at Jon’s heart.

In unison, a dozen more blasters were produced from pockets and belts and robes, and pointed to throats and bellies and chests. The bandits aimed theirs at the Brotherhood’s, while the Brotherhood’s aimed theirs at the bandits.

“That’s my man you’re threatening, Thoros,” Anguy warned the man in the red robes. “Let him go before I blast you.”

Thoros smiled faintly. “Your man?” He spat on the floor. “What’s his name, then?”

Anguy knit his brow in confusion for an instant, but to his credit, he didn’t even look at Jon. It was clear he trusted him, and that made it all even worse.

“Bael,” he answered, defiant. “What do you care?”

Thoros’ smile widened, a nasty, menacing thing. “It’s not, though, is it?” He looked at Jon now. “This one’s Senator Stark’s bastard. Jon Snow.”

There were gasps, whispers, and murmurs, but Jon didn’t care. His eyes were on Lady Stoneheart. “If she has a problem with me, she should take it out on me. Not on my friends.”

“Your friends?” someone in yellow armor repeated with a mirthless laugh. “Do your friends even know that you’re a Jedi?”

Jon winced and closed his eyes.  _ Shit.  _ It was not how he’d wanted them to find out. Although if he was being honest with himself, he’d never wanted them to find out at all. As fond as he’d grown of them, he’d only joined them for one reason: so he could go to Alderaan and save Sansa. Everything else was secondary.

What would the shade of Sansa’s mother do, though, if she knew her daughter was alive? Would she let him go? Would she kill him either way? Would she even believe him? And, most importantly: would it be wise to share such valuable information in the company of outlaws and criminals?

No, he decided. It wasn’t worth the risk. Noble they might be, but they also needed credits to fund their expeditions, and Jon knew they weren’t above ransoming hostages to get them.

He needed to remember his mission. He was only here for Sansa, nothing more.

All around him, the air was charged, that tension he’d sensed earlier coming close to a boil. Sooner or later someone would lose their patience and begin firing, and then they’d all be lost. A plan was beginning to form in Jon’s head.

Without hesitating a moment further, he ignited his lightsaber. Too stunned at the sight to react, the other Brotherhood stood there with their mouths agape while Jon attacked them left and right, but they recovered soon enough.

And then it was carnage.

The sound of blasts filled the cave, and in the skirmish, Jon seized his chance to escape.

_ Alderaan _ , he thought, clutching his stomach tightly—he hadn’t realized he was hurt. He looked at his hands and was shocked to see they were red with blood.  _ No matter _ , he thought, gritting his teeth.  _ I will get to Sansa one way or another. _

He took two steps in the direction of their airship before he collapsed.

* * *

The pain was unbearable, so much so Sansa could not get out of bed. She drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware that people were coming and going from her apartments, speaking in hushed voices. Medical droids analyzed her vitals with the latest technology, her maidservants placed damp cloths on her brow, and once she could make out Petyr Baelish’s face through the fog of her pain, looking down at her in concern.

But Sansa knew her illness was not physical.

Somewhere in the galaxy, Jon was dying.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at:  
> twitter: @[witcherology](https://twitter.com/witcherology)  
> tumblr: @[witcherology](https://witcherology.tumblr.com/)


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